


Before I Let You Walk (Show Me How You Crawl)

by Blackrising



Series: We Were Wolves [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash, Futanari, G!P, Girl Penis, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:18:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7608901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackrising/pseuds/Blackrising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A surprised gasp escaped Widowmaker’s throat as her arms were seized in Tracer’s grip and her body was forced against the edge of the table next to her. Her hands jerked towards the rifle that wasn’t there, her eyes narrowing dangerously.<br/>“Be very careful, chérie,” she growled. “You will not survive another fight.”</p><p>- OR - </p><p>Tracer owes Widowmaker one. [Sequel to 'Quickshot']</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before I Let You Walk (Show Me How You Crawl)

“I hope this is blood.”

Tracer grimaced and wiped her palm on Winston’s fur. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d gotten all that gunk on her hands during the mission, but at least it wasn’t her own.

The gorilla gave a scandalized grunt and leaned away from her, baring his teeth as he tried to brush away the reddish mess on his arm. “Was that really necessary? It’s going to take hours to get the clumps out of my fur.”

“Sorry, big guy,” Tracer apologized. He didn’t notice her swiping her other hand across his armour. “Shared misery and all that.”

Mercy sighed where she was standing next to the bench both Winston and Tracer had claimed and stopped bandaging Winston’s arm to reach into the first-aid kit at her hip. She handed Tracer a cool, wet cloth. “Antiseptic wipes.”

“Thanks, love! You’re a lifesaver.”

It was a welcome relief to run the cloth along her palm and fingers, rubbing at the dried patches of maybe-blood until her hands and nails were sparkly clean. Winston was less successful, brushing himself down with a deep frown and grumbling quietly at the stain on his armour.

“Tracer,” Mercy spoke absentmindedly, a deep line of concentration forming between her brows as she picked pieces of debris out of Winston’s skin. “I’m almost done here. Could you tell Widowmaker that I’m ready to take a look at her wounds if she wants me to? I saw her get clipped by a bullet.”

Tracer had seen it, too. She hadn’t been able to stop Widowmaker from going onto the mission and had done her best to keep an eye on her as much as she could. The bullet had been meant for Mercy, but had ricocheted off a wall and punched into the Assassin’s shoulder.

It had earned their enemy a single, clean shot to the head.

Widowmaker had retreated into the shadows then, and Tracer had to admit that a part of her couldn’t shake a sliver of worry. The Assassin was immensely useful when she was on their side and they were a team, even if it was just a temporary alliance. They needed her in peak fighting condition.

And…

Tracer swallowed. It was hard to ignore that she’d been kneeling between her thighs just a few hours ago. That she’d felt her sweat-slicked skin against her own as she’d pounded into her. That she’d _come in her mouth_ and Widowmaker had swallowed it all.

There had been nothing intimate or tender about their encounter, but the physical closeness remained and it was impossible to view her quite the same way after what had happened.

“Tracer, did you hear me?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Tracer hurried to respond and jumped from the bench with a shaky grin. “I’ll go.”

“Just tell her to come down before we land if she’s in need of assistance.” Mercy gave her a tired, lop-sided smile. “I doubt she’ll take me up on the offer, but it can’t hurt to ask.”

The ship wasn’t a big one and Tracer made her way up the stairs on the far side with her stomach in a knot. The area was quieter and cast in shadows here, hidden from everyone else’s sight. She didn’t know if Widowmaker’s preference for the dark stemmed from her method of combat or if keeping a distance was simply part of the Assassin’s personality.

Perhaps it was just instinct.

Widowmaker stood silently in front of the upper door and looked out the small window at the sky rushing past, seemingly lost in thought.

“Oi.”

It garnered no reaction.

“Mercy can take care of you now.”

Widowmaker stood stock still for another few long moments before she eventually cocked her head and shrugged. “That will not be necessary.”

It was clear that one shoulder had lost some of its mobility, even though her suit did not allow any blood to seep through. Tracer rolled her eyes.

“Come on, I saw you get shot. It has to hurt.”

The Assassin chuckled low in her throat, as though the assumption she might feel _anything_ was ridiculous. “I don’t feel pain the same way you do, _chérie_.”

Tracer stopped herself from asking the obvious question, least of all because she suspected the other woman would not answer. Instead, she took a few steps closer and reached out with one finger.

“Really? So you’ll be okay if I do thi-“

Before she could dig a finger into her skin to prove her point, her wrist was caught in a crushing grip, narrowed yellow eyes fixating her as Widowmaker whirled around.

“Your hands. They’re dirty.”

Tracer blinked down at her palms and shook her head. “I just cleaned them!”

The Assassin scoffed and turned up her nose – a very clear sign that she didn’t care just how hard Tracer had tried to get every last bit of gunk off her fingers.

“Go back to your little friends,” she intoned coldly, turning away. “I don’t want or need your company.”

Tracer’s mouth pulled into a grimace. She understood that Widowmaker had been playing a game with her, she did, but she’d expected at least some sort of recognition, some sort of acknowledgement of the fact that they’d had sex.

"So I don't get to touch you with my ‘dirty hands’, but you can just go and grab my sensitive bits whenever you feel like it?" She crossed her arms with a huff and tried to shake the images in her mind. The memory of being inside the other woman was still fresh enough to make her heart pound. "How is that fair?"

Widowmaker threw a haughty glance over her shoulder. The amused glint in her eyes made Tracer swallow hard and take a step back, feeling like a mouse staring into a cat's maw. If there was one thing she'd learned from their last encounter, it was to fear the sharp edges of the Assassin's smile as much as she feared the barrel of her rifle.

Widowmaker's movements were measured and calculated as she turned on her heel and angled her body to the right - a move Tracer recognized.

She was cutting off her escape route.

"Only the stupid or the suicidal play fair," the Assassin murmured and took a step closer, the smell of gun powder clinging to her like perfume. "I am neither."

Tracer's eyes darted around. Her back was almost to the wall and she saw no way of getting out of the situation without getting physical.

However, her rapid heartbeat and the warmth building in her belly at Widowmaker's proximity made her wonder if that was truly the case or if she simply _wanted_ to stay put. She could have called for Winston and Mercy, both of which were talking in the lower level and would have no problem hearing her, but she didn't.

“So,” the Assassin continued, the tips of her fingers coming to rest against her belly. The touch was feather-light and barely there, but it caused Tracer’s stomach muscles to quiver anyway. “Don’t assume one little game makes us anything more than enemies.”

Tracer’s back hit the wall as she stumbled away. “I wasn’t-“

Soft, cool lips brushed against the shell of her ear as the fingers against her stomach traveled further down.

“This isn’t a friendly exchange of sexual favours.”

Despite the words breathed into Tracer’s glowing-red ear, Widowmaker’s hand continued its journey until it rested against her crotch, fingers softly curling around her.

It had only been a few hours since Tracer’s last orgasm and by all rights, she should be satisfied. The simple movement of fingers ghosting over her shouldn’t do much for her, it shouldn’t get her hard so quickly.

Widowmaker moved her palm, rubbing Tracer’s cock in slow, circular motions that made Tracer’s hips begin to tremble – whether due to excitement or frustration or perhaps both she couldn’t tell.

“If it were, your contribution would be rather…disappointing.”

The sentiment attacked some deep and primal part of her, least of all because she knew that she hadn’t held out long enough last time to give Widowmaker an orgasm in return, but the embarrassment was soothed almost immediately when the other woman took a hold of the base of her cock and squeezed. A mangled gasp was the only response Tracer could give as a thumb stroked across the underside of her head.

The tightness of her pants was both a blessing and a curse.

“I hope you enjoyed fucking me,” Widowmaker purred, lips grazing against the soft skin beneath her ear and her palm tight and secure around her. “Because you will not get to do it again.”

And just like that, she let go.

Her hand disappeared from Tracer’s crotch and the sudden loss of sensation left Tracer hard and twitching miserably, her breathing ragged and her ear burning where Widowmaker’s mouth had touched her. The sadistic amusement in the Assassin’s expression set her teeth on edge.

Just as Widowmaker was about to turn and walk away, visibly happy to let her stew in her frustration, the ship gave a hard jolt.

“We’re here,” Winston’s voice called out from the lower level, the sound mixed with the noise of the main door hissing open. Tracer couldn’t see him, but his voice seemed uncertain. “Are you alright?”

They’d been up here for some time – he probably feared Widowmaker might have gotten rid of her like she’d threatened to do now that the mission was over.

She ignored the Assassin’s raised brow as she cleared her throat to hide the husky quality in her voice. “Don’t worry, Winston, everything’s fine!” She glanced down at her erection denting the material of her pants in a rather obvious manner and blanched. “I’ll…I’ll be down in a jiffy!”

“Take your time, then. Just check in with me later.” The ‘ _so I know you’re not dead’_ went unsaid and Tracer listened to Winston’s heavy footsteps shuffle out the door and down the ramp, closely followed by Mercy’s airy, near inaudible ones.

Widowmaker shook her head and made a disparaging ‘tsk’ in the back of her throat. “Leaving a bug alone to be devoured by the spider? How very unwise.”

“Who are you calling a _bug_?” Tracer sputtered, drawing up her shoulders in indignation. Sure, she’d been called annoying as a fly on more than one occasion, but her friends had said it with the sort of good-natured indulgence that made it impossible to get mad.

Widowmaker’s comments were _drenched_ in derision.

She thought Tracer was beneath her – useless and inadequate, not even enough of a threat to end her life when she’d had the chance. A bug to be toyed with until she got bored.

And what truly confused Tracer, what truly made her stumble, was that she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what Widowmaker’s _plan_ was. She couldn’t figure out _why_ she’d had sex with her, why she’d chosen to offer her body just to humiliate her.

Why she kept touching her even though she’d already secured the favour she’d been seeking.

The faint twitch of a smirk danced along the lines of the Assassin’s lips and Tracer watched the sway of her hips unhappily as she descended the stairs to leave – off to return to Talon and terrorize innocent people and omnics alike.

It was a split-second decision.

Fueled by something sharp and burning that had taken up residence in her chest, by the redness in her cheeks and ears, by the heat brewing in her gut, she blinked into her path.

A surprised gasp escaped Widowmaker’s throat as her arms were seized in Tracer’s grip and her body was forced against the edge of the table next to her. Her hands jerked towards the rifle that wasn’t there, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Be very careful, _chérie_ ,” she growled. “You will not survive another fight.”

Widowmaker was taller and stronger than her, albeit slower, and physically speaking, Tracer knew she wouldn’t be able to beat her.

But that wasn’t what she was here for.

Without conscious decision, without really knowing what in the world drove her, Tracer sank to her knees.

Her quickness made it easy to take hold of the zipper on the Assassin’s suit and pull it down before the other woman had fully realized her intentions. Just as she remembered, there was nothing but naked skin beneath.

“Still owe you one,” she muttered, more to herself than to the woman in front of her. She took a deep breath and shivered at the heavy scent of her, at the slickness glistening in the carefully trimmed hair covering the softly rounded mound.

 A startled gasp was her reward as she buried her face between Widowmaker’s legs.

Tracer’s eyelids drooped as she parted her lips and ran her tongue along the other woman’s slit. She was wet and hot, aroused, and the taste made Tracer’s heart speed up and hammer inside her chest.

The thighs on either side of her head twitched with every exploratory lick of her tongue. She wanted to use her hands, to hold Widowmaker still as she had done with her just hours ago, and began to reach for her.

_“Your hands. They are dirty.”_

Her fingers stopped short just inches from the smooth material of the Assassin’s cat suit. It was ridiculous to follow an order she hadn’t been given, to follow any order, but she maneuvered her arms behind her back and crossed them at the wrists as though they were bound.

Goosebumps rose along Widowmaker’s thighs.

Tracer raised her bleary gaze to look at the Assassin’s face, never ceasing her slow exploration of the slick flesh underneath her tongue, and found her breath knocked out of her at the expression she was met with.

Widowmaker was looking straight at her, unblinking, her brows furrowed in concentration and her lips parted into a silent ‘o’. Her teeth gleamed sharply behind purple, half-parted lips.

The casual derision was gone, the cruelty of her mouth subdued, and had been replaced by lust and the kind of focused intensity she might reserve for her targets. Their eyes stayed locked as Tracer ran the flat of her tongue over her clit, watching the resulting twitch in the Assassin’s cheek attentively and listening to the click of her teeth.

She’d been achingly hard before, but now her cock was straining against her pants with every pulse of arousal, every drop of wetness against her tongue. It was a tempting thought to reach past her waistband and take care of it, to come with Widowmaker against her mouth, but this wasn’t supposed to be for her.

This was supposed to even the odds between them. To bring balance.

So she kept her hands obediently behind her back and burned the spots into her mind that made the Assassin’s hips rock against her face.

“What,” Widowmaker hissed, hands balling into fists. “What do you hope to achieve with this?”

Tracer closed her eyes and hummed, pressing closer and using her tongue to dip softly into her entrance. Even if she had been able to answer, she didn’t know what to say. Her pride dictated that she pay the other woman back, but she also knew that engaging further was not a good idea.

She didn’t _have_ anything to achieve, yet her knees were cold and sore from kneeling at her enemy’s feet.

“You will _not_ earn yourself any further favours this way,” the Assassin continued huskily. Her tone was decisive, but the wetness trickling down her thighs and the heat warming her cool flesh didn’t lie – she was enjoying this.

Tracer pulled her mouth back for a short moment, licked her lips and grinned weakly. “I know.”

She pressed her nose back into the soft, curly hair in front of her before Widowmaker had the chance to answer and closed her lips gently around her clit.

The Assassin groaned at the suction, loud enough to make another smile curl the edges of Tracer’s mouth, and Tracer suddenly found her hair gripped in a tight fist.

The sting caused tears to pool at the corners of her eyes and her cock to leak droplets of pre-cum.

She’d been keeping her motions gentle and slow until now, but the fingers in her hair gave a harsh pull and Tracer gasped, moving her tongue faster in response. She drew tight figures around Widowmaker’s clit, careful never to brush against it directly.

She felt every shiver and twitch, the subtle tightening of the Assassin’s fingers around her head and the scratch of nails against her scalp. Widowmaker wasn’t particularly expressive – there were no loud moans or feverish words whispered into the humid air – but the little cues told Tracer what she needed to know.

They told her that sucking the soft inner folds into her mouth would cause the other woman’s spine to stiffen in an effort to keep her position. They told her that she preferred narrow caresses over broad strokes.

And they told her that, at least for now, Widowmaker _felt_.

Tracer gave the stiff nub of the Assassin’s clit a last lick before moving further down to circle her entrance, making a soft noise in the back of her throat when the thighs around her face tightened momentarily before spreading to grant her better access.

The ache in her groin amplified.

She wondered if Widowmaker was still watching her, observing her face where it was buried between her legs as she thrust her tongue into her, but didn’t dare open her eyes. The material of her pants bore evidence of a more than obvious wet spot where her pre-cum had soaked through - she couldn’t risk seeing the heat in her gaze again.

Widowmaker clenched around her as the tip of Tracer’s tongue brushed against the spongy tissue of her inner walls.

“ _Chérie._ ”

The word was low and guttural and Tracer’s shoulders jerked. She groaned quietly as long fingers began to rake through her hair, fingertips stroking the shell of her ear and the skin on the side of her neck.

“Look at me.”

Tracer squeezed her eyes shut harder and moved her tongue back up to rub across the Assassin’s clit. The pulsing of her cock was near unbearable as Widowmaker breathed in sharply and began rocking her hips, dragging herself across Tracer’s lips and chin and painting her face with wetness.

A palm gently brushed strands of hair from Tracer’s forehead and came to rest atop her head – just before her hair was seized in a crushing grip.

Her pained cry was quickly muffled against wet flesh as Widowmaker started grinding against her in earnest, any pretense of apathy gone now.

All Tracer could do was part her lips and try to keep up with the other woman’s movements.

“I said,” Widowmaker growled, heated and out-of-breath. “Look at me.”

Tracer did.

Her vision was blurry, her mind clouded from the warmth and the scent, and it took her eyes a few seconds to focus on the rapid movements of Widowmaker’s chest, on the sweat glistening in the hollow of her throat and the yellow glow of her irises.

The effect of her expression had not lessened – Tracer’s heart made a reckless leap against her ribcage and what little blood her brain had retained thundered south to center in her pounding loins.

Widowmaker’s gaze flicked downwards for a moment, taking in her stiff shoulders and the nervous jiggling of her legs, before narrowing in contemplation. The thrusting of her hips quickened almost imperceptibly.

“Touch yourself.” There was a subtle hesitation in her quiet words, like she hadn’t meant to say it – or wasn’t sure _why_ she’d said it.

Tracer’s hands jerked.

She wanted desperately to provide herself some relief, but she was reluctant to follow through. Widowmaker had an influence on her, on her body, and a part of her understood the danger of it.

The danger of feeling like she’d do anything – _give up anything_ – for the touch of her hands in her hair and the taste of her skin on her tongue.

“Do it, _Chérie_.” Yellow eyes beckoned her to follow, to obey.

Tracer’s right hand hovered over her waistband, the tips of her fingers threatening to slip beneath. If there was any way to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that she lacked control when it came to this woman, soiling her pants was a sure-fire way to do it.

Widowmaker’s grip on her tightened, the sensitive flesh between her legs twitching continuously, and Tracer knew she was approaching climax. With a groan and a sheer immeasurable amount of will, she balled her hands into fists and retracted them.

She couldn’t afford to lose again.

Instead of reaching into her pants like she wanted to, she threw caution over board and clasped the Assassin’s hips between her palms - not to keep her still, but to help her ride her tongue faster.

Widowmaker’s eyes widened, her hands loosening in shock as Tracer found the right rhythm to circle her clit and pump into her on every pass.

Tracer barely heard the rapid gasps of breath or the quiet moans that escaped the other woman’s mouth now and again, not with the blood rushing in her ears and her entire focus narrowing in on the slickness beneath her lips.

A dull pain was starting to build in her jaw, the muscles not used to this kind of exhaustion, but she forced herself to power through it.

All the while, her eyes never left Widowmaker’s.

She watched as her lids drooped, as teeth bit down on a plump lower lip and the look in her eyes became hazy and unfocused. It could have been her imagination, but she thought the colour of the Assassin’s cheeks had changed from cold blue to something rosier and warmer.

Widowmaker’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged, and the connection between them was broken as her eyes squeezed shut.

The meaning was clear.

Tracer latched onto the other woman’s clit, flicking the tip of her tongue rapidly over the swollen nub and keeping her head as still as she could as the Assassin slid back and forth over her lips and tongue and chin in a last burst of energy.

Widowmaker’s climax was quiet.

Perhaps it was simply due to her thighs squeezing shut and sealing Tracer’s ears, but the only sound she made was a single, long exhale of breath – a noise Tracer felt more than heard and one that sent tremors down her spine.

Even as a surge of wetness covered her already soaked chin and her breath grew short, Tracer kept her position.

She waited patiently – as rock-hard as ever and aroused to the point of pain – for the other woman to ride out her orgasm until, eventually, the legs around her head lost their tension and loosened their hold.

Only when the Assassin stood completely still did Tracer pull away to take a deep breath.

“Still disappointed, love?” she asked cheerily and licked her lips, heartbeat seemingly unwilling to slow down as fingers brushed through her hair. Gentle and soft and so unlike their usual interactions.

Widowmaker didn’t, or couldn’t, respond.

Her motions were sluggish and lazy and if Tracer didn’t know better, she’d think there was something almost like affection in them. A forgotten sort of affection that had no place here, between them, but somehow still felt…nice.

She allowed herself to enjoy the touches for as long as she felt comfortable with, for as long as the other woman had not yet realized how intimate this might seem, but struggled to her numb feet as soon there was a telltale hitch in the Assassin’s movements.

In a split-second act of inexplicable and inexcusable inappropriateness, she pressed a lingering kiss to the soft skin beneath Widowmaker’s bellybutton.

“Guess we’re even, then.” Tracer giggled nervously and wiped at her face, realizing she’d have to wash her face before going to meet the others. “Didn’t wanna leave without returning the, ah, favour.”

Widowmaker’s thumb grazed against her bellybutton, hurriedly letting her arms fall to her sides when she realized she’d been caught. Her brows drew together in a stormy frown.

“Not yet,” she husked. “Do not forget what you owe me.”

Her voice sounded far less threatening than she’d most likely intended and Tracer stood straighter. She’d won this round and they both knew it.

“Right, the bet.” She shook off the weirdness of this encounter, of this whole day, and grinned. “Just gimme a call whenever you feel like collecting.”

Her exaggerated wink garnered her a dark look.

“Always happy to be of service, love.”

There was more to talk about, more details she ought to find out about in regards to whatever favour Widowmaker would be asking of her, but Tracer’s erection begged her to leave and get some private time in the shower before the rest of her brain decided to shut down.

Or before she decided to sell out her friends for a hand job and a pat on the head.

“I have not changed my mind,” Widowmaker suddenly said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “No matter what happened today, it will not be repeated.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to-“

Tracer’s chin was seized in a tight grip and lifted until she had no choice but to look into the other woman’s eyes. They gleamed, as cold as steel and showing no trace of arrogance or mockery – just the certainty that Widowmaker meant every word.

“Do _not_ touch me again. Understood?”

The sudden dryness in her throat made Tracer swallow. She couldn’t find the words to respond and simply nodded instead, even as her cock pulsed traitorously in response to the harsh words.

Under Widowmaker’s cool gaze, she stumbled backwards with stiff knees – there was no sense in trying to hide her erection and so she didn’t try.

“All clear,” she laughed awkwardly and inched towards the door. “Guess I’ll see you around, what with you wanting to kill me and all.”

She fled before she had a chance to make an even bigger fool of herself – because of course Widowmaker had noticed how much of an effect she had on her, of course she could tell that a part of Tracer _wanted_ this, whatever it was, to keep going.

She left knowing the other woman would be gone by the time she could give in to the temptation to look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Tracer probably has severe groin pains now.
> 
> If you want to know more about my writing, hop on over to my [tumblr](http://the-queen-and-her-soldier.tumblr.com/)!


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